


He Will Not Encumber Me

by jadelotusflower



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Pre-ESB, he ain't heavy, he's my brother, minor reference to heir to the jedi, minor references to rogue one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadelotusflower/pseuds/jadelotusflower
Summary: Luke gets drunk, Han cleans up the mess.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Han Solo
Comments: 15
Kudos: 67





	He Will Not Encumber Me

There were two things the Rebels did well, in Han Solo’s opinion. The first was hail a loss as a victory simply because it was not annihilation, and the second was to keep a well stocked bar in every officer’s mess. There was of course an obvious correlation between the two. 

It had been another brutal, demoralising loss for the Alliance, and Han wasn’t sure how many of those they had left in them. Yet what was left of the rebels celebrated because there was still a rebellion to be fought and therefore, still hope.

The embodiment of that hope was surrounded by a throng of fellow pilots, being hailed and toasted, fresh drinks being pressed into his hand the moment he finished the last one. Han had arrived late and took up his usual spot at the bar sipping a glass of Corellian whiskey, not quite ready to celebrate yet another brush with death. 

Of course, he didn’t blame the kid; he’d been promoted after all, and deserved at least one night to enjoy it with a drink - or fifteen. Han noted with amusement the wide grin that didn’t once falter, the blearly, unfocused look to the eyes, the slightly delayed reactions, and every now and then, distinct giggling. 

The newly minted Commander Skywalker was drunk. 

That in and of itself should not seem unusual, but it was rare to see Luke in such a state. Han remembered the first time he’d seen Luke drink alcohol, in those heady few hours after the medal ceremony on Yavin but before the evacuation. The ale had been flowing free then too, but while Luke had consumed as much as any of them, it hadn’t seemed to affect him in the same way, or at least not as quickly. 

He’d expected to be entertained by a fresh-off-the-farm boy scout giddy on victory and his first taste of real whiskey. But while his new friend and fellow survivor Antilles had slumped down onto the bar, laughing softly to himself and still clutching his glass, Luke had been perched happily on the stool beside him ordering another. 

_“You drank in the Mos Eisley Cantina right?” Luke had said when Han had questioned him._

_“Yeah,” he’d confirmed, and made a face. “I didn’t think it was legal to sell distilled engine grease.”_

_“It’s Tatooine,” Luke had laughed darkly. “It’s only illegal if the Hutts don’t like it. But we have a saying too - if you can ferment it or distill it, you can drink it.”_

_“Whether you live to drink it again is not the barkeep’s problem I guess.”_

_“In Mos Eisley, sure - in Anchorhead they relied on repeat business,” Luke told him with a shrug. “But it was no less potent, there was a sill out the back using whatever desert plants we could get our hands on.”_

_“Tatooine moonshine, huh?” Han had lifted his glass in salute. “I’m impressed kid.”_

But Luke’s tolerance for alcohol seemed to go beyond a familiarity with the strong stuff - of course there was also his metabolism that Han liked to joke was faster than the Falcon on the Kessel Run. He’d once seen the kid put away three dozen spiced ribenes (with a side order of tomo-slaw), chase them with a basket of deep fried tubers and still have room for half a sic-six layer cake. 

He won every drinking game he was challenged to for a year after joining the Rebellion, which always ended up with his opponent either slumped on the floor, vomiting into a trash can, or on one ignoble occasion, in the medward getting their stomach pumped. They’d all been given a week’s latrine duty after that, and drinking games expressly banned. 

Of course, the Alliance couldn’t police what happened planetside, and more than once when they’d been in need of some quick funds Han had tried to persuade him to invite challenge in the local bar. Luke had always refused, but had eventually told him the reason in that way of his - half pride, half humility.

_“It’s the Force Han,” he’d said. “If I concentrate, I can feel the alcohol in my bloodstream, push it along and make it metabolise quickly.”_

_“The Force.” Han had been unconvinced. “Okay then.”_

_“I’m serious, Han. I think I’ve been doing it unconsciously all my life, but now I can control it.”_

_“Well kid,” Han had slapped his shoulder, and grinned. “Finally an upside to this Jedi business! So let’s pick a mark and we’ll have the credits for the parts we need by morning.”_

_Luke had shaken his head and sighed in exasperation. “Don’t you see, it gives me an advantage. It wouldn’t be fair.”_

_“Fair would be me enjoying a Corellian sunset with a beautiful woman and surrounded by piles of credits, not on this junk planet with you scrounging for spare parts.” Han threw up his hands. “No one in this joint is playing fair - the barkeep’s watering down the whiskey, the sabacc dealer’s got cards up his sleeve, even that slot machine on the wall is rigged. Everyone’s a cheat, you just gotta be the best one.”_

_“Not me.” Luke was resolute, and while Han secretly admired his firm moral stance, in reality it just made things that much harder for them._

They’d made it off the planet eventually, but Han had never questioned Luke’s alcohol tolerance again. 

Which was why the scene before him was so strange. Han watched Luke closely for a few more minutes, trying to determine if it was artifice. But when Luke knocked over a decanter and began apologising profusely to a potted plant rather than the bartender, he decided it couldn’t be. 

There was only one explanation left - that Luke was drunk because he wanted to be. 

Han wasn’t sure if he was relieved the kid was giving himself a much needed release, or deeply concerned that he was seeking a desperate escape. He sidled his way over to the throng surrounding Luke, hovering on the outskirts of the pilot pack. 

Wedge Antilles clinked a fork against the side of his glass and announced he was going to make a speech. Oddly, the young pilot always kept a fork on his person, and when Han had once called it weird, Wedge had given him a wry look. 

“What’s weird is putting something in your mouth that’s had a thousand other tongues on it,” he’d said, and pointed his fork at him. “Think about it.”

“No thanks,” Han had said politely, avoiding the low hanging fruit of the unintended double entendre. Others hadn’t his restraint, and since then the fork in question, and Wedge’s penchant for a clean utensil (double entendre absolutely intended) had been the source of much fun. 

“Alright Antilles,” called another pilot Han couldn’t remember the name of. “Stop banging it about!”

“Yeah, keep that thing sheathed,” yet another rejoined. “There are minors present!” He put his arm around a colleague who Han knew was of age, but had a boyish face that had earned him the nickname Baby. They all had little names for each other outside their call signs, which could change from mission to mission and through movement between squadrons. Luke had, for obvious reasons after Yavin, been given the name Starkiller.

“Oh kriff off the lot of you,” Wedge made a rude gesture, but was smiling, unoffended. “I’m going to make my speech.”

He made quite a show of clearing his throat until they were all listening. “To Luke,” he raised his glass, “or should I say, Sir.” He gave a little mock curtsy and no one laughed harder than the man himself.

“I remember the first time I met Luke,” he reminisced. “When he told me quite nonchalantly that his favourite pastime on Tatooine was shooting at desert rats, and I thought this guy is in for a rude awakening once he actually gets in a proper ship. Seriously, Luke,” Wedge wagged a finger at him. “There’s no rats in space.”

“Says you,” Luke laughed. “The _Executor’s_ full of them!”

“But much to my surprise,” Wedge continued, “the Empire’s most dangerous weapon blew up like many a mangy rodent before it, thanks to my friend the Starkiller. Since then there’s no one else I’d rather fly alongside, even if I now have to call him Sir for the privilege.” 

Wedge gave him a lazy salute and raised his glass. “To Commander Skywalker!”

“Commander Skywalker!” the cheer went through the room, and Wedge clapped Luke on the shoulder as they downed their ales at a rapid pace. The former finished first, wiping his mouth and banging his empty glass down on the bar.

“Okay, enough speeches,” he threw his hands up in the air. “Let’s dance!”

Han was content to leave them to it, leaning against the bar and savoring his whiskey. It was good to see Luke let loose a bit - the poor kid rarely got the chance since between his obligations to the Rebellion and trying to train himself to be a Jedi, Han didn’t know when Luke had time to sleep, let alone have fun. Now he’d been promoted to command, another burden he seemed happy to take upon himself without thought of the consequences. 

He’d had seen it too many times among pilots and revolutionaries - they shone bright and burned out quickly, taking on more responsibility, more risk, until their luck ran out. But there was no reasoning with the kid - Han had tried, and Leia was no help, she was exactly the same way. So he had to content himself with keeping close, watching over Luke, ready to pull him back from the brink when he strayed too close.

Han sighed as he signalled to the barkeep for another drink. How he’d become mother hen to these rag-tag rebels, he didn’t know. But there is was. 

Aggressive rock music blared over the speakers, and Han watched in amusement Luke banging his head along in time with the heavy drum beats, mouthing the words and moving his feet with surprising rhythm. It was one of those anti-Imperial anthems, played in many an underground club to whip people into a rebellious frenzy, and a popular choice among the young pilots looking to offload some post-battle energy. 

Well, the _other_ popular choice, Han smirked as he saw a few pilots pair up and scoot off to celebrate surviving another day. A few hopefuls sidled up to Luke, and while he danced and laughed and shared a drink with them, one by one they gave up as they realised he wasn’t the one-night stand type. He'd learned the hard way early on; his mission with Nakari Kalen had been the beginnings of a sweet romance until it had ended in tragedy, and the other brief relationships he'd observed Luke have had seemed to have made him battle-shy. After the losses that day, Han didn't blame him. 

Eventually the revelry died down - Wedge passed out on the lounge snoring loudly, and a few others sprawled out less comfortably on the floor. But Luke had held out, and stumbled over to Han at the bar with a boozy grin.

“What’re drinking?” Luke asked, reaching for the still mostly full bottle Han had slowly been working on.

“Something too expensive to waste on someone already drunk.” Han pulled the bottle out of his reach.

Luke laughed. “Aw, come on Han.”

“I think you’ve had enough anyway,” Han stowed the whiskey behind the bar, counting that Luke no longer had the physical dexterity to reach over it. “I’m cutting you off.”

“You can’t boss me around anymore, Han.” Luke leaned heavily on the bar. “I’m a Commander now - I _outrank_ you.”

“Is that so?” Han was about to remind him that his title of Captain was because of his ship, not a rank in the Alliance military, but it there was little point. 

“Yeah, it’s so.” Luke poked him in the chest. “I can just say, Captain Solo, fetch me a hydrospanner, or Captain Solo, stop flirting so outrageously with Leia, and you have to comply.”

Han chuckled to himself and patted Luke on the shoulder. “I don’t think that’s how it works, kid.”

“And you don’t get to call me kid anymore.” Luke brushed him away.

“Alright, _Commander_ ,” Han humoured him. “Tell you what. You walk from one side of this room to the other unaided and you can have as many more drinks as you want."

Luke stared at him for a few long moments, glanced at the large transparisteel window that made up one wall, and the exit located at the other. He straightened and cleared his throat, but then closed his eyes as if the room was spinning. 

“Fine.” He pouted and leaned back against the bar. “Spoilsport.”

“Hey, you’re the Starkiller,” Han joked, “I’m the Fun Killer.”

Luke laughed more than even Han felt the remark warranted. “You’re funny,” he slurred, and laughed again. “Do you know you’re funny?” 

“Yeah, I know.” He surveyed the room, not for the first time noting a significant absence. “Leia wasn’t here tonight.”

Luke shrugged. “Strategy meetings. After today, I guess they have a lot to talk about.”

“What, and leaving out the exalted Commander Skywalker?” 

“I’m excepted...expected tomorrow.”

Han eyed him, thinking it would take a miracle for Luke to have sobered up by then. He leaned over the bar and poured a glass of water from the tap, forcing it into the kid’s hand.

“She did come by and congratulate me,” Luke said as he took a sip. “Kissed me too.”

“What?” Han felt a traitorous tug in his heart.

“Here.” Luke pointed to his cheek, and Han was disturbed by how much he was relieved. Their shared affection for Leia was something they never talked about, and Han could barely acknowledge he _had_ affection for Leia, even to himself. But Luke was drunk, and therefore more likely to be more forthcoming than he usually was, and less likely to remember it.

“So, a kiss huh?” Han knew it was unscrupulous, but had to know. “And did you reciprocate?”

Luke blinked at him. “She didn’t get promoted.”

Han ran a hand over his face and laughed. “Okay, kid. But you like her right?”

“Of course, she’s my friend.”

It was like talking to a toddler. “No, I mean more than that,” he pressed, rethinking his approach. “For example, what do you feel, when you look at her?”

Luke furrowed his brow and it took him several moments to respond, as if he’d never had to put his feelings into words before. 

“I feel...kinship.”

Han thought it was an odd word to describe attraction, and for the first time wondered whether Luke’s feelings for Leia were more platonic than he’d assumed. He’d certainly never pursued her, or made any kind of romantic overture, seemingly content with their friendship as it was. On the other hand, Han had never made any overtures either, although that was because he didn’t think he’d get the response he wanted, and then what he did have with her would be soured. 

“Why?” Luke asked him. “What do you feel when you look at her?”

Han cleared his throat. “Yeah, same as you. Kinship and all that.”

Luke narrowed his eyes and gave him one of those appraising stares that when sober made Han feel as if the kid was reading his thoughts, but didn’t have the same effect when Luke could barely stand upright. He just looked like he was squinting. 

“So Rogue Squadron huh?” Han changed to subject. “Good name.”

“Yeah,” Luke nodded, thankfully distracted. “It seemed right.”

“From what they say around here that Jyn Erso was quite the dame.”

Luke nodded again, staring off into the middle distance. “I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. Do you think it’s possible to miss people you never even met?”

“Never gave it much thought.”

“There was so much I wanted to ask them,” Luke sighed. “She wore a kyber crystal on a necklace, did you know that? I wonder if there was a Jedi in her family, something she could have told me about them. And they say Chirrut Imwe was a monk, guarding knowledge of the Force at the temple on Jedha. I wish…”

“Yeah, but Luke.” Han touched his arm. “If they were still here, we wouldn’t be.”

“I know.” Luke blinked, his eyes wet. “They died so we could continue the fight. Like half the fleet today.”

“It’s what our lives have become,” Han sighed. “You know it was halfway through this little shindig I realised that other than you and Antilles, I didn’t know anyone’s real name.”

Luke looked at him ruefully. “You actually have to talk to people to learn their names you know.”

“Hmn.” Han swirled the whiskey in his glass. “You ever hear of Lernaean, kid?”

Luke shook his head.

“Vile water planet,” Han shuddered, thinking of his one and only visit, since no bounty could ever convince him to return. “They have some kind of ocean serpent there, living in the depths. You have the misfortune to come across one of ‘em, turn and run.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it can’t be killed,” Han told him putting down his glass. “Cut off its head, and two grow in its place. Cut off those two, you got four to deal with, you get it?”

“Like us,” Luke nodded. “They can take out a cell of rebels, they can destroy half our fleet, but there will always be more of us.”

“No, kid,” Han said, taking him by the shoulders. “It’s not like you at all, that’s the point! Because the Empire kills a rebel, and there aren’t two to take his place. There’s just one less rebel to worry about, and one day there won’t be any.”

“How can you say that?” Luke shook him off. “More are joining our cause all the time!”

Han shook his head - he really was just a kid. “What do you think the casualties were today - five hundred maybe? You got a thousand new recruits lined up?” 

Luke’s lower lip trembled, and he took a shaky breath. “Why are you saying this Han?”

“I just want to know what your endgame is Luke,” Han pressed. “At what point do you pack it in, and say enough is enough?”

Luke raised his chin, looking up at Han with that zealous fire he had. “We don’t. We fight until we either win, or we die.”

“Simple as that?”

“Yeah.”

Han sighed again, and drowned the last of his whiskey. “And you wonder why I don’t bother to learn anyone’s name.”

“Well leave, if you think we’re such a lost cause.” Luke pushed at Han’s chest. “Go pay off Jabba and go back to whatever life you had before this. I don’t need you looking out for me.”

He pushed off the bar and clearly attempted to stride off to punctuate his point, but instead tripped over his own feet and went careering towards the floor. 

“It’s alright kid,” Han caught him by the arms and lifted him upright. “I got you.”

“ _Commander_ ,” Luke murmured, and was then promptly sick in a potted plant. 

“Get command of your digestive system, and we’ll talk.” Han grasped a napkin off the bar and crouched down to hand it to Luke. 

“This is disgusting,” he moaned pitifully and wiped his mouth. 

“Welcome to the world of mere mortals.” Han gave him water so he could rinse out his mouth. “Come on.” He hauled Luke to his feet and lopped the kid’s arm around his shoulders to steady him.

“I’m never drinking again,” Luke groaned as Han helped him back his quarters and lay him on the bunk.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Spying Luke’s lightsaber on the side table, Han moved it to a high shelf just in case. Seeing nothing else that could pose a danger - Luke kept his room depressingly clean - Han sat down on the bunk to unlace his boots.

“Maybe you’re right Han,” Luke said despondently. “Maybe this is a lost cause.”

“Ah, don’t listen to me.” Han decided to leave Luke’s socks on, and swung his feet up onto the bunk.

“I still have to fight,” Luke continued, staring at the ceiling. “Even if there’s only a fool’s hope.”

That’s exactly what it was, but Han held his tongue and patted Luke’s leg in acknowledgement.

“But you don’t have to,” Luke murmured, eyes fluttering closed. “I know this isn’t a comfortable life.”

“Yeah, well neither’s smuggling,” Han conceded. “Although the pay is better.”

Luke opened one eye. “When we met you were up to your eyes in debt to Jabba.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah but when I met an Imperial cruiser, I could drop the sprice shipment. Can’t shoot the Empire’s Most Wanted out the airlock,” he gave him a wink, “as much as I’d like to sometimes.”

Luke chuckled, eye closing again and head lolling to one side on the pillow. 

“I have to leave eventually though,” Han said softly. After all, he was _still_ in hock to Jabba up to his eyeballs, and who knew how much longer it would be before the slug sent some goon looking to take payment in blood.

“Hnm.” Luke seemed to be drifting off, so Han pulled the blanket up over him and patted his shoulder. He located an empty rubbish bin and moved it to the side of the bunk for easy access should Luke wake up and need to be sick again, which based on the kids complexion was highly likely. A quick sweep of the room left him satisfied, and he made his way to the door.

“Han?” Luke muttered, and when Han turned back he seemed asleep, but must have been only nearly so.

“Yeah?”

“That water snake - anyone ever kill it?”

Han smiled, tapping his fingers against the doorframe. “Not yet,” he said. “Who knows, maybe you will.”

The door slid closed behind him, and Han headed down the corridor to his own quarters, thinking that if anyone could slay a monster like that, he’d bet on it being Luke. And maybe - just maybe - he'd be there to see it.


End file.
